I’ve been a working musician for a decade—coffee shops where the milk steamer’s louder than the crowd, hotel lobbies that smell like lemon polish, weddings where the dance floor finally forgives the day. I love it, and it pays the bills. That’s the rule I live by: play with heart, treat it like work. So when my cousin Bianca texted, “Hey! Would love if you could sing during the ceremony and maybe a bit during dinner too,” I read it as a booking. “Of course—send details,” I replied. She sent time, venue, run-of-show. No talk of payment. No explicit invite....
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